


Like in the Morning after Crazy Nights

by Plainxte



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Dare, Drinking, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Too Much Drinking, Touring, like seriously too much, love potion, very minor but it's there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24216289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plainxte/pseuds/Plainxte
Summary: "What?" Roger asked incredulously. "You don't mean that you actually believe in Ratty's tale? That some kind of a – mythical love potion actually exists?"
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	Like in the Morning after Crazy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Please drink responsibly! Really! This fic is _not_ a good representation of that. And read safely, do please mind the tags!
> 
> And no, of course it's not a real drink. 
> 
> Prompt: Love potion/Aphrodisiac (did I manage to combine two prompts? Perhaps. Oops. Sorry)

That night, they had all ended up at the hotel bar after the gig. For one reason or another, no girlfriends or wives had accompanied them on this leg of the tour, and the evening had been dedicated strictly to drinking. They had all passed the point of being pleasantly tipsy some time ago, had gone through the stage of being mildly inebriated and right into stewed. Now they were now well on their way to becoming well and truly sloshed. Roger was hoping to soon be able to classify his state as plastered. It was that kind of an evening.

On the other side of the table, Brian was making noises about heading off. John, meanwhile, was a bit ahead of the others. If he kept it up, he would not only be approaching the state of being wasted, but simply pass out in the very near future. As it was, he was smiling softly to himself, seemingly completely focused on swirling the amber liquid in his glass around. He was no longer talking, or, apparently, listening to the others.

Freddie was holding court at the other end of the bar, eyes flashing and hands weaving animatedly through the air. Laughter drifted towards them from that direction. 

"And then she said – that's funny, that's exactly what _he_ said!"

The voice rose in volume towards the end of the punchline, followed by raucous laughter.

Swaying slightly on his feet, Crystal put a new tray of drinks down on the table. He peered in Freddie's direction. 

"Looks like they're having all the fun. All right, you bunch of miserable drunks. Who's going to tell us a story?"

Roger blinked at him.

"Come on, you lot. Tell me. Let's say… yes. Tell me, what's the weirdest sex you've ever had?"

"Right, that's it," Brian said. "That's my cue. See you tomorrow, then. I'm off to bed."

There was a chorus of groans.

"Aw, Brian, don't be like that."

"No, I mean it. I do need to get some sleep. Thanks for tonight, everyone."

With a determined set to his shoulders (or as close to one that you could manage when you were so drunk that you couldn't actually walk straight if you tried), Brian gulped down the rest of his drink, waved unsteadily to Freddie, and wobbled off in the direction of the lift. 

After a beat, Roger looked at Crystal.

"What did you mean by that, CT? The weirdest place you've had sex?"

"No, no, Rog, you're getting it all wrong. Not the first time that happens, of course," Crystal said, voice slurring surprisingly little. "Not _where_ you've fucked. But the _kind_ of sex. Come on, now. No? Okay, I'll start, then."

Another burst of laughter from the other side of the bar drew Roger's wandering attention to itself, and he lost the plot of what Crystal was saying for a while.

"Ferrets? You have got to be kidding me!"

Roger came to with a start. Yes. He was definitely reaching his goal tonight. Plastered was only half a drink or so away.

"No, no, it really happened, I'm telling you!" Crystal was saying, among general mirth.

"No, but are you telling me you didn't try a tarpaulin, or plastic, even? That's what works. See, there was this one time –"

Roger glanced up from his contemplation to see that Freddie had wandered over to their table. 

"I have been cruelly abandoned and left to fend for myself," he pronounced with a grand sweep of one hand. "What are you lot talking about?"

Jobby groaned. 

"Oh, it's just the usual. And it's getting worse and worse. Crystal's telling us some dreadful made-up story about his sexual prowess."

Crystal protested loudly at that. Roger glanced at Freddie, who had crossed his arms. The tight jeans and t-shirt really were a good look on him, Roger thought.

"Fine, have it your way," Jobby said. "The point is, I really didn't want to hear any of it. And now you've gone and scarred me for life. Taken my innocence and corrupted me. You horrible little man."

There were loud sniggers at that. But next to Crystal, Ratty was looking thoughtful. Crystal nudged him with an elbow. 

"What's got into you, then?"

"Just remembering," he said vaguely. "Thinking. About what you said. The weirdest sex. The weirdest time. See, there was this girl I used to go out with."

Freddie moved impatiently at that, fidgeting before sitting down with a sigh. Roger's eyes took in the way his shirt dragged over his chest, a little, as he settled in a chair. "It sounds like it's going to be a long story."

"I haven't thought about it for a long while," Ratty said, deep in his own thoughts. "This girl. She asked me if I wanted to try something new, one night. For sex. There's this drink, she said."

Crystal raised a sceptical eyebrow. 

"No. Really?"

"No, I mean it, you wanker," Ratty said. "Look, do you want to hear this, or not?"

Crystal lifted his hands, palms up, in submission.

"She said that there's a drink that makes you… feel things."

Crystal snorted, and then tried to cover his laughter up by coughing when Ratty directed a murderous gaze at him.

"Shut it. She said it's like, like a love potion, almost."

"Ooh!" Freddie said, enthusiastically.

Ratty turned a baleful eye in his direction.

"You too. Not a word. Or I'm not telling the story at all. She said, my girlfriend said, that this drink is something that almost all bartenders everywhere know about. And they know how to make it. But the trick is, you need to know exactly what to ask for. Otherwise they won't bring it to you. Say they don't know what you mean. Or refuse to serve you at all. But if you do, they will." 

He shrugged.

"Wish I could remember what it was called, though. Something mythical, I remember that much."

"Well, you're definitely on something tonight, Ratty, I'll give you that. I don't know about mythical, though." 

"No, quit it, you bastards. It's a real thing. Centaur? Faun? One of those things."

At this point, Freddie had buried his head in his hands. There was a slight hysterical edge to his laughter. Roger realised he had been staring at him, admiring the curve of his shoulders. He tried to cover it up by taking another swig from his glass and hoping no one had noticed.

Crystal swatted Ratty on the arm, lightly.

"You're forgetting the important part of this story, mate. What we want to know is, how was it? The sex?"

"That's the thing, innit? It was great. Best sex I'd ever had. But, like, it was impossible to think about anything else, all night. It was like we absolutely had to fuck. Anything else felt like, like dying."

He looked down, tracing the soggy coaster on the table with one fingertip.

"I mean, it's not like I didn't fancy her or anything. She was great. Absolutely great. And the sex was fantastic. But a bit scary, too, you know? When you thought about it later. And we broke up soon after. Not that it had anything to do with that night, mind. She moved away. Got a job somewhere. And that was it."

He sighed.

"Wish I could remember the name, though."

Jobby was grinning. Crystal, too, looked like he was having trouble not bursting into giggles once more. 

Despite everyone's best efforts, Ratty refused to react to any more of their ribbing after that. One by one, people started to call it a night and head in the direction of their hotel rooms. Crystal yawned hugely.

"Okay. Thanks, all. It was a good night. I'm off."

He clapped Ratty on the back.

"Dream about nymphs tonight, Ratty. Seeya, Rog. Freddie."

Roger raised his glass in acknowledgement. Freddie nodded. Ratty was still staring at the table. 

"Satyrion," he said, suddenly.

"Eh? What's that?" Roger asked.

"That's the name of the drink. I'm telling you."

"Satyr-what?"

"Satyrion. That's what it was. The name of the drink. Told you it was some mythical Greek wossname. It was nice," Ratty said, a little wistfully.

He shook his head, only then appearing to notice that the bar had emptied.

"Well, I better get moving, then. Tomorrow's going to be another long day. And I should see to it that John gets to bed safely. Hey, Deacon? You okay there? Can you walk?"

He nudged John, who seemed to have fallen asleep. His head was cradled on his arms, and a sizeable part of his hair was soaking in a puddle of beer. He stirred at Ratty's prodding, grumbled and then got up.

"Whoa, there. Steady on," Ratty said, grabbing a hold around John's shoulders. "Nighty night, you lot."

"And then there were two," Freddie said. Roger hummed in agreement. His head was buzzing agreeably, and he seemed to be floating, a little. Freddie really had the prettiest eyes, he thought, absently. 

The place was quiet now. The barman was taking advantage of the lull by wiping down the bar.

Freddie quirked an eyebrow at Roger.

"What?"

"What are you thinking about?"

Roger smiled, suddenly struck by an idea. It seemed like the only natural course of action. It was exactly the sort of idea that's brilliant in the small hours of the night, half a drink away from sliding under the table. And that at any other time seems like utter madness. 

"Well, should we?"

"Should we what?"

"Should we try it? Ratty's drink?"

"Absolutely not," Freddie said, with something like horror in his voice.

"Well, aren't you curious?"

He huffed. "Not that curious, I don't think."

"What?" Roger asked incredulously. "You don't mean that you actually believe in Ratty's tale? That some kind of a – mythical sex potion actually exists?"

"No, but –"

"But what?" Roger insisted. "Come on, Freddie. What's the worst that could happen?"

"You vomiting all over the table, maybe?"

"Oh, come on," Roger scoffed. "Like I ever do that. Or do you mean that you don't fancy me? Afraid of me suddenly coming on to you?"

He waggled his eyebrows. He was delighted when Freddie blushed and looked to the side. 

"It's not that."

_Hold on. What?_

Roger wasn't sure his mouth wasn't hanging open.

"Scared?" He managed to get out.

He knew the outcome almost before Freddie spoke. Freddie would never let that kind of a comment pass without rising up to it.

"You just had to go and say that, didn't you, Roger?"

Freddie shook his head in dismay. Roger was fascinated by a strand of Freddie's hair that had fallen across his forehead, curling a little. He had a sudden urge to touch it and to smooth it back. 

"You know what, Roger? Let's. Why not. Let's try it. What's it matter what happens?"

The colour still clung to Freddie's cheekbones. Roger admired the way the light formed sharp shadows under them and across Freddie's face. Freddie raised his hand, catching the eye of the barman. Roger looked at Freddie from under heavy eyelids.

The barman walked up to their table. Roger distantly took note that it wasn't the same man who had been there before. The newcomer had wavy hair that was going grey at the temples, and a weary look on his face. Perhaps the shift had changed at the bar? 

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

Freddie cleared his throat. He looked back at Roger, as though checking he hadn't changed his mind. Roger nodded at him. He marvelled at the slanting curve of Freddie's eyebrows. Had he ever noticed how beautiful it was before?

"My friend here and I, we were wondering if you could get us a drink. A rather special one. We were told you'd know it. It's called – um, Satyrion?"

Roger was still looking at Freddie, and so his attention wasn't focused on the barman. But from the corner of his eye, it seemed like he started at the name.

"There's a request I haven't had in a long time," he said, so softly it was barely audible. 

"But if that's what you wish for," the barman said, a little louder. "You understand that I have to make sure that you know what you're asking for? And that you're sure about it? It's for the two of you?" 

He looked at Roger, then at Freddie, and back again.

Freddie nodded.

"I'm sure. Roger?"

He swallowed. His throat was suddenly inexplicably dry. No turning back now. Not that he thought that it would actually _work_ , but…

"Yeah, I'm sure," he croaked.

The barman shrugged.

"Well. I suppose you know what you're doing, then. Your choice. And it's on your own head what happens. Be right back with you, then."

Roger and Freddie waited in silence, neither of them coming up with anything to say. Roger had a wild desire to laugh, to call it off, and write it off as a joke. But something in Freddie's gaze made him grit his teeth and stay put.

After what felt like simultaneously like an age and no time at all, the barman was sliding two medium-sized glasses in front of them. The drink was honey-coloured, and looked a little sticky. 

Freddie picked up a glass. Roger copied him.

"Cheers," he managed, in a voice that he didn't recognise as his own.

He took a small sip of the drink. It tasted nice, actually. Mellow. Not bad at all. He sighed and felt his shoulders relax. He lifted the glass to his lips again. He couldn't see what all the fuss was about. It was a perfectly good drink. What could possibly go wrong?

On the other side of the table, Freddie was smiling at him.

All right, so Roger had been staring at Freddie throughout the night. He could admit that much. And there had always been a certain… tension between them. But suddenly, it was as though he couldn't look away. At all. Freddie's eyes, so familiar but now filled with something he had no name for. His lips. His beautiful full lips.

He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Freddie lifting his hand and dragging it across his mouth. The sight of his long and slim fingers was mesmerising.

"We should go," Freddie said, voice curiously strained. "Upstairs."

"Yes," Roger breathed.

They got up from their seats almost in unison. There was suddenly no need to say anything more. They got out of the bar quickly, and walked just as quickly across the hotel lobby, not giving another thought for their surroundings.

Inside the lift, Roger felt Freddie's eyes on him. He couldn't wait any longer. He crossed the distance between them, raising a hand to touch Freddie's cheek gently. Freddie drew in a sharp breath. Roger leaned forward until Freddie was all he could see, everything that existed. He stilled for a small moment, but Freddie made no move to get further away. He closed the final distance between them then, pressing his lips against Freddie's.

Freddie made a small sound, almost like a whimper. His lips were very soft. Roger could taste a shadow of the strange drink on them. There was a small hint of stubble under his hand where he was moving his thumb slowly along Freddie's jaw.

The most surprising thing about the kiss was perhaps that it didn't feel strange at all. It felt right, it felt natural, like something they should have been doing a long time ago already. Why hadn't they?

They stumbled along a corridor, tripping over their own feet in their haste. A quick fumble with a key, and they were inside Freddie's room. They didn't bother with the lights; it was a clear night, and the room was awash in pale moonlight. That was enough, at that moment. 

Roger walked Freddie backwards in the direction of the bed, one hand coming up to his waist to guide him. One of Freddie's hands was buried in his hair, the other one tangled somewhere in the collar of his shirt.

Freddie was on his lap, straddling him. Freddie was pulling at his belt. Freddie was undoing his trousers with quick, deft fingers.

All he could see was Freddie. On the bed under him. Gasping. Flushed. Their gazes locked on each other. His whole world was Freddie. He trembled, overwhelmed.

* * *

There was an insistent ringing noise somewhere off to his right. Roger groaned. The bed was warm and comfortable, and he really didn't want to wake up. But the noise just wouldn't stop. He blinked his eyes open blearily, and realised the offending noise was coming from the direction of the nightstand. Without getting up, he threw his hand towards it, reaching blindly for the telephone.

He dropped the receiver at first, fumbling and uncoordinated. He cursed under his breath and twisted uncomfortably, trying to reach.

"Yeah?" he rasped into the phone.

There was a pause, as though the person on the other end of the line hadn't been expecting the answer.

" – Roger? Is that you?" A voice asked, sounding unsure.

He frowned. "Gerry?"

"Roger? Why are you in Freddie's room?"

That woke him up the rest of the way very suddenly. A grey morning light was coming in from the window, where the curtains had never been drawn the night before. He narrowed his eyes against the brightness. A headache was starting to make itself known at his right temple. Gerry was still waiting for an answer when Roger's gaze landed on Freddie's sleeping form, lying next to him in the bed.

Freddie's very naked form.

He swallowed.

"Roger? You still there?"

Right. Better think quickly.

"Yeah. Must've had too much to drink last night."

At least that much was true.

"Bit of a crazy night, y'know?" His laugh sounded fake even in his own ears. "Crashed in Freddie's room. Too drunk to move on."

"Right, right," Gerry's voice sounded doubtful. "Well, is Freddie there with you?"

"Um. Yes. Still asleep."

"Can you wake him, then? We need to get moving in a couple of hours. Can you tell him?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'll do that. Later, Gerry."

He stared at the receiver in his hand for a while before putting it down. He turned to the head of black hair still resting peacefully on the pillow.

What exactly had happened, last night?

Disjointed images flitted through his mind. The bar. Ratty telling some strange tale. The drink, and the heady look in Freddie's eyes. The feel of his lips, and of running his hand along his neck. The taste of his skin, tinged with salt, at the hollow of his neck. The sound he made when he – 

He realised he was blushing.

Had he really done that? Had they really done that? _All_ of that?

And more importantly, at the moment, what would happen when Freddie woke up? What would it mean for Roger? For them? The full extent of what had happened hit him hard. What would it mean for the band?

For their future?

He eyed Freddie with trepidation. Only one way to found out. 

He took a deep breath. 

"Freddie?" He shook his shoulder carefully.

Freddie blinked awake, muttering something incomprehensible. Slowly, he turned to look at Roger. His eyes widened. Roger could see the exact moment when the memory of the night before hit him by the way his expression changed. 

And then Freddie smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> "Satyrion" is both a name for several kinds of orchids, and for various aphrodisiacs used in Ancient Greece and Rome, apparently involving orchid plants. I completely made the drink in this story up, of course, it doesn't exist!


End file.
